I left New Zealand mid-2003, bound for Istanbul and a new lif. After two years, a Belgian guy lured me into his world, deep in the heart of Europe. For a long time I was an in-process immigrant. One day we married. These days it's about photography, a little red wine and wandering ... and so the journey goes.

Sunday, January 04, 2009

She wants to go to a planet away from the earthWhere the paths are crowded with people running to their roomsAnd where the beds in the morning are chaosAnd the pillows wake up crumpled,Their cotton stuffing dipping in the middle.She wants washing lines full and much, much rice to cook for lunchAnd a large, large kettle boiling on a fire in the afternoonAnd the table for everyone in the evening, its tablecloth dripping with sesame of chatter.She wants the smell of garlic at noon to gather the absent onesAnd is surprised that the mother's stew is weaker than the power of governments and that her pastry in the eveningDries on a sheet untouched by any hand.Can the earth containThe cruelty of a mother making her coffee aloneOn a Diaspora morning?She wants to go to a planet away from the earthWhere all directions lead to the harbour of the bosom,The gulf of two armsThat receive and know no farewells.She wants airplanes to come back only.Airports to be for those returning,The planes to land and never leave again.Mourid Barghouti, a poem for his mother from his book 'I Saw Ramallah'

4 comments:

If only this were possible. The Palestinians have suffered for 60 years or more. Sadly, there's no sign this will change anytime soon. I've been writing about their stories since 1979 and learn more every day, although not much changes - certainly not under the inept Bush administration.

The facts and stories have been so stunning and heart-rending, but this poem gave me, of all things, hope - hope that ... oh, man ... hope that people believe this is NOT the way to be a human, not the way to be a citizen of the world. Thank you for sharing this.